


The Constellations on your Skin

by Jagara



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Eventual Levi/Erwin Smith, F/F, F/M, Ice Skating, M/M, aot - Freeform, jeanmarco, kimiooon inspired, snk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jagara/pseuds/Jagara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein doesn't skate, or so he says, but gains a particular interest when face to face with a sweet stranger who has so many freckles, he can't help but want to trace the constellations with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And there you were

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Where Jean meets Marco for the first time.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/37120) by Kimiooon. 



> This was more than inspired by Kimiooon's work and all the others that were added to this wonderful and sudden Iceskating Au!
> 
> I couldn't help but start up something with it and I'm hoping to take it a few chapters, not only for others sake but also for my own closure, haha.
> 
> I do hope you enjoy--this would be one of my firsts and I'm open for any comments, questions, or concerns!

     “ _C’mon_ , Jean, you promised us last time that you were going to come along!”  
     "You can’t prove it!"  
     "Like hell I can! I have the texts!"  
     "I said  _no,_ take the hint!”

     The scowl was making itself a permanent fixture on his lips as he stared at Connie, who was already with clasped hands, attempting to persuade his decision otherwise. In no way was he going to go, even if he did mention something about coming along the next time they were going to pull a get-together, together. He always says things he doesn’t exactly mean, especially when it deals with..  _socializing._ A faint shudder runs through him at the mere mention of it. It wasn’t really that Jean himself was a _bad_ person, or necessarily  _hated_ people (because he reserved his real hate for special occasions), but socializing was such an exhausting task when half of the time he would either get into an argument with someone or pick a fight with another (in this case, both dealt with the same person in question: _Eren_ fucking  _Jaeger_ ).

     "Connie, I don’t even know how to skate, so what’s the point in going?" he resists the urge to roll his eyes when Sasha joins in on the deal, "And I’m not going to pay fifteen bucks to go to an ice-skating rink,  _not_ to ice-skate.”   
     The boy springs up to his feet, bright eyed, “But that’s the beauty of it! You don’t have to pay if you’re not skating! You can just sit on your cold, sorry ass and watch us have fun without you.”

     The brunette laughs suddenly, slapping Connie on the shoulder, “That  _definitely_  changed his mind.”  
     "Really?" he said, bright-eyed and hopeful as he didn’t quite catch the sarcasm in her voice, as he whirled to see Jean’s reaction.

     Deadpan, the older of the two boys responded, “No.”

     "But Mikasa is coming back from abroad!" Sasha finally chimes in with the real reason they were going out together, because they failed to even tell him _why_ they started this argument in the first fucking place, idiots, "Eren and Armin wanted everyone to see her since it’s been a while that we’ve  _all_ hung out, including you.”  
     "..Mikasa?" he repeated, raising his chin from his upturned hand in slight interest, "It’s been five months right?"

     It’s been awhile since he’s seen her, even before she left (him and that brother of hers, Eren, having gotten into a fight beforehand and thus causing him to miss his chance to even tell her goodbye and have a good trip); Jean still nursing the crush he’s had on her since he met the trio back in middle school, in the eighth grade. Seeing his lack of response, that’s when she took her chance; Sasha, upon seeing his hesitation of not wanting to go versus wanting to see Mikasa, looped her arm with his and hauled him to his feet without a second to lose—before he changed his mind completely, “Let’s go!”

<><><><>

     Essentially, this was a really bad idea and he still didn’t quite understand just how Sasha brought him along so easily without a fuss; he hadn’t even been remotely aware of being shoved into her rickety car. _Screaming metal death trap,_ he complains to himself as he holds onto the wobbly seat-belt for dear life. It isn't long when they arrive and he finds himself standing behind them with his arms crossed, goosebumps fleshing out along the back of his neck; no jacket in the world could make him warmer right now. The building was large and looked more like a warehouse from the outside, but the inside had been remodeled within the last two years so it looked just as new as when it was first built. Jean thought back to when he was a kid, remembering how he used to come here almost two or three times a week. It hardly looked like the same building from the inside, but they still had some of the employee's he recalled, aged since then, and the old equipment in the front. When people pass through the doors, the chill from within brushes by in a rush from the vacuum effect; a shiver running through him. Why did these places have to be ridiculously cold?  _I mean sure, they need it cold enough for the ice to stay icy but shit,_ he thought irritably as the cashier lady nodded at him, letting him through. Connie and Sasha were walking ahead to grab their skates with their ticket while he waited on one of the banks.

     "Hey," he said, grabbing the shorter male’s attention, "You never told me who was coming here."  
     "Oh, I think Ymir, Christa called to say that they were.. " Connie thought for a second, "Armin and Annie—"  
     "What about Reiner?" Jean wasn’t really close with Annie or the duo's other friend, Bertholt; they were more acquaintances than anything, because frankly the beanpole didn't speak a whole lot, but he’s hung out with Reiner on a few other occasions and he’s pretty good company. 

     Sasha came to sit on the bench next to Jean while she tugged on her skates, pulling on another pair of socks so she wouldn’t get blisters on her feet by the end of the day, “Supposedly he’s coming later; he get’s out of work around five-thirty. At least, that's what Eren told me.”

     He watches them both as they finish tying up their skates—in the end he has to help Connie because, since he was wearing wool gloves, he couldn't tie the knot or pull the laces taught. Once done, he takes both of their arms and helps them waddle across the general locker area and into the back where the ice-rink was. This certainly hasn't changed, he thinks a little fondly, but the thought is soon displaced as a pre-teen roughly bumps into him and keeps running without so much as an 'excuse me'. Out at the center of the rink itself, out of the way of the ring of visitors skating round and round, he could see two figures making their way towards the glass wall in their direction. One falls and the other helps them up without even losing balance.

     "Eren! Mikasa!" Sasha’s voice rings out, right by Jeans ear, making him wince as she hobbles away from his side and leans precariously over the wall to wave at them, "Hi!!"  
     "Hi, Sasha," is Mikasa’s curt but happy reply as she pulls a teetering Eren along, adjusting the crimson scarf looped about her neck with her free hand, "It’s been awhile."  
     "I’ll say!" greets Connie happily, as Jean leads him to the wall and ends up mirroring Sasha’s position while Jean takes preference to stand upright, "How was Germany? Anything like the movies?"  
     "I’ll have to tell you guys about it when we’re all together, so I won't have to repeat it eight times but it was a great experience, I even met Erwin Smith," she says, glancing at Jean and smiling slightly, though there was something strained about the action, "Hello, long time no see."  
     "Likewise," he nods at her and internally smacks himself. That’s all he had to say? How lame.  
     "Erwin?! Like, the million time gold medalist?" Connie gasps while Eren smirks.  
     "Yeah, they had lunch and everything!"  
  
     Jean scoffs,  _show off and it’s not even his accomplishment._ Eren is looking at the brunet and Jean’s unintentional scowl deepens, “What?”  
     

     "What’s with the horse-face, horse-face?"  
      "Did you just--?" Kirschtein splutters for a second, "You can’t even come up with a good insult, you piece of—" Jean reached across the wall and grabbed Jaeger by the collar of his jacket, jerking him closer only to have both Mikasa and Sasha forcibly wedge themselves in between.

     "Knock it off you two, this is supposed to be fun!" Sasha’s frowning while Connie pats Jean on the shoulder, in what should have been a reassuring manner.  
     "Just relax man, go one day without fighting Eren!" the younger man encourages, for all of their sake.

     Mikasa looked at Jean with this expression that withered him from the inside out, and slowly, he found himself backing down in momentary defeat; releasing Eren from his grip. Muttering something like an apology, but not really an apology under his breath, he mentions something about sitting at the bleachers and for them to have fun in his stead—and nobody argued with him after that. There wasn't much to do on the bleachers other than people-watch, which was something Jean actually liked to do, as much as he didn't like to admit it; thinking up conversations people would have, their backgrounds, imagining what they would do next or why they were doing something. It passed the time mostly, especially when he was a kid waiting for his mom or dad to pick him up from school or a practice back in the day. Realization eventually hits him, knocking him out of his reverie, when he takes notice that he’d been watching this _one_ particular skater for the past few minutes, unknowingly. He didn't even think about why he was tracking the strangers movements, with his chin propped up on an upturned palm, leaning on the wall.

     At first, there wasn't really anything that distinguished the guy from the rest—with his mostly black attire and gloves that would've kept his hands warm, even though he had a short sleeved shirt, which.. made absolutely no sense to Jean (was he just cold in his hands and warm on his arms? Cold on his body?). The man glided across the surface at a leisurely pace, without much incentive, but smiling brightly at the children he passed and then while he was making a lazy turn at the round about, spies Jean, not so subtly, staring at him.

     His hand drops from his face and Jean forces himself to sit up straighter, watching that the stranger with all the grace he was exuding, before realizing that he’d been caught red handed. Jean felt his cheeks flare up in embarrassment, but the stranger—drawing in closer because he was completing the round in the circle—smiles, almost bashfully, and gives a meek wave of hello before continuing on his path with renewed vigor.

     Jeans eyes widened slightly in surprise. The other had actually gotten so close that Jean could see most of the freckles that decorated the skaters cheeks—numerous, like cinnamon dusted on a latte. 

     He couldn't tear his eyes away as the man began speeding up and almost flew across the ice with such expert poise; leg raised so that it and his torso were near parallel with the ground, with his arms extended. _Flying_ , with such a look of serenity on that freckled face.

     At that time, the only thought on Jeans mind was,  _holy shit._

     The stranger brought his limbs in close and spun tightly on a single spot before releasing the stance flawlessly and continuing on his way, that dark hair casually mussed.

_He’s so fucking hot._


	2. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean Kirschtein doesn't skate, or so he says, but gains a particular interest when face to face with a sweet stranger who has so many freckles, he can't help but want to trace the constellations with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Kimiooon's ice skating au artwork that's linked in the first chapter!

     Jean was fully-aware that he had no right to stare because frankly, he was feeling more creepy by the second and it wasn’t doing anything for his ego or confidence. His only saving grace was the fact that it didn’t seem that the stranger even minded—and blushed at the fact. It took a moment or two to get his brain back into working order, enough to make a faint and cracked ‘uh’ noise in the back of his throat. The skater was already on the far side of the rink, making the lap backwards effortlessly.

     Jean had to find out who he was, even if it was just a name and an awkward hello.

     He’d been so clearly distracted in his own quiet admiration that he didn’t notice the body that came over and sat next to him.

     "What’re you looking at?"

     The voice startled the living shit out of him, making him almost yelp—instead, it came out like a squeal of sorts, which of course, Jaeger had to hear as he wobbled his way with Mikasa’s guidance, “What kinda sissy-ass neigh was that, Horse-face?!” he calls out, taunting with that stupid smirk plaster onto his face.  
     "Shut the fuck up, Jaeger! Say that to my face!" Jean, jumping to his feet, snaps—even though his voice cracks in the middle of his sentence only making Eren laugh harder almost causing himself to slip.

 _Serves him right, the asswad,_  Jean thinks sourly, watching as the duo stumble from Eren’s lack of focus, before whirling to the voice that started it all. The blond was easily recognizable and Armin just sat there innocently, “Sorry about that, Jean, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just saw you sitting over here and thought I’d keep you some company for awhile.”

     Sighing, Jean slumps back into his seat beside Armin, leaning back against the empty seats behind him as he watched his skater make another gentle round.

     "It’s alright," he finally says, only glancing at his friend through the corner of his eyes before turning his attention back to the matter at hand, "I didn’t hear you coming so I guess I deserved that much."  
     "That’s a strange answer coming from you," Armin chuckles, thoughtful, "Did something happen?"  
     "Not particularly," the other shrugs dismissively, before he see’s movement and turns to Armin fully now, seeing him wave excitedly at someone in the rink.

     Curious, Jean returns his gaze just in time to see his skater wave back at Armin.  _What?!_

     Jean sat up, turning his neck so fast that he was stunned that he didn’t get whiplash, and stared at the boy wide-eyed, mouthing, ‘ _you know him?!_ ’. Armin watched his reaction and could only laugh, but it was cut down to a soft chuckle when Jean glared at him. It only took seconds for Jean to move up onto the higher bench that Armin sat upon, grabbing his arms as he did so, “How!? What’s his name?”

     Still stifling his laughter, Jean’s cheeks flushed pink and he wasn’t getting his answers fast enough, “Armin! Stop laughing! I want to know!”  
     "Why do you want to know so bad, Jean? Ask him yourself—"  
     "Armin, you know I suck at human contact and have the personality of a wet mop—"

     A gentle laugh resounded just behind him and he could feel his heart stop in his chest.  _Please, please, please dear merciful God,_ he thinks in panic as his mind races,  _for once please let it be Jaeger._ Moving his head just so he could peer over his shoulder, he catches sight of his skater, hugging his elbows as he leaned against the wall, smiling that smile at him. 

     "I certainly haven’t heard that one before," he speaks, and Jean could feel himself withering on the inside from how alluring the mans voice naturally was—at least to him. It was sweet and genuine.

     Oh god, those freckles.

     Nothing came out of Jean’s mouth—he couldn’t even get it working fast enough and Armin was heaven sent as he began speaking, “He’s actually really nice when he wants to be, but he doesn’t really like to admit that part.”

     Yeah, because _that’s_  going to get him brownie points with the skater with that irresistible smile. However, to his surprise, the freckled man laughs softly once more as if it honestly amused him. Slowly, Jean’s vice grip on Armin’s biceps loosened and he finally settled back into his original place, still quite speechless and unknowing what to say next. He hadn’t expected him to come over in the slightest.. and not when he admitted that he had a horrible personality.  _Hella embarrassing._ That smile captivated him though, even as the skater shifted and offered his hand, “I’m Marco.”

_Marco._

     Suddenly, someone pinched at his side and Jean realized it was Armin, because he kept staring. Marco though, didn’t even seem to be bothered or minded, as his hand was still outstretched with an everlasting patience. Swallowing hard, Jean finally leaned forward to reach and shake his hand, “Jean.”  
  
     This made Marco’s smile brighten, finally getting a reaction out of the other, “It’s really nice to meet you, Jean. I saw you earlier—”

 _Saw me staring,_ Jean filled in, in his mind.

     "—and I was wondering why you were sitting around by yourself, so I was thinking of coming over but I guess Armin beat me to it," another flash of that bashful smile from before, only to look at Armin next, "I didn’t know you knew each other?"  
"Oh! Jean and myself have been friends since middle school," Armin supplies and Jean feels ridiculous that he couldn’t tell Marco any of these things because he’s still floored.  
"Oh yeah?" Marco’s brows raise a bit, genuinely interested.

     Jean managed a grunt of confirmation, gaining Marco’s undivided attention for a moment or two. He only glances up, to find the skater smiling ever so gently, as if happy that Jean had contributed—encouraging—as small as it was. His cheeks flare with heat and turns his eyes up towards the ceiling just to gather himself again. That chuckle again, but it seems like he and Armin continued their conversation and Jean remained listening at the side, content enough just to observe the interaction. The sandy haired male was the last one to sit back and let someone else take the reins, it just wasn’t in his personality, but something about Marco really threw him for a loop and suddenly he felt like some schoolgirl staring at her celebrity crush poster, pinned to her wall.

 _Oh my god, did I really compare myself to that,_ he thinks in disgust before he notices Marco asking him a question, but he didn’t quite catch what it was. 

     "What?" straightening up now.  
     "I  _said,_ " Marco begins to repeat, rolling his eyes cutely as he leans his torso more heavily on his arms, "why don’t you skate?"  
     His cheeks dust pink as he chews the corner of his lip, “I don’t..” he mumbles and this makes Marco’s brows knit together.  
     "What?"  
     "I don’t know how," Jean repeats more clearly, looking up at the other, expecting him to laugh or something, but then—

     Marco slides over so he’s standing face to face with Jean this time, smiling as he does so, and shrugs his shoulders slightly, “If you want, I could teach you?”

_Yes, yes, yes, sweet baby Jesus on a beignet, yes._

     "I uh—.."  
     "Don’t hold your breath, Marco!" 

_SON OF A—_

     Eren comes out of the blue, hobbling on solid ground with his skates on as he makes his way over—some flakes of ice in his hair, signifying a recent fall in the rink and probably giving Mikasa a break from toting him around like a tug-boat.

     "Jean’s a lost cause and his shitty attitude will only chase you off anyway," Jaeger leans against the wall for a moment and Jean has this overwhelming feeling of socking him a good one in the face.

     Armin was about to say something to his best friend, but Marco beat him to it. Looking at Jean all the while, the freckles shape to his smile and Jean feels his heart flutter as soon as the words fall from his lips.

     

 

     "I think I’ll take my chances, Eren."


	3. Wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you, first of all, for reading! Here's chapter three and I was thinking if maybe, sort of possibly? if there was maybe.. two or three people who would like to help/volunteer to read over the chapters before they're published?
> 
> I mean.. it's just an idea because I feel like I'm going to get very disjointed soon.. oTL
> 
> But anyway! Thank you all so far! 
> 
> As always, inspired by Kimiooon's ice skating AU work, linked in the first chapter!

         "Are you sure about that, Marco? I don't want to go to an early funeral."  
         "I'll survive, Eren, I can handle myself."  
         "Suit yourself, man."  
         "You know, I'm standing  _right here,_ Eren!"

          There was nothing more frustrating than when Jaeger spoke about Jean like he wasn't even in the vicinity; it pissed Jean off to no fucking end. Armin wore a small scowl at this as well, but it was a habit of the other just to prod at Jeans buttons--the two were always at it, "Eren, c'mon he isn't that bad."

          The brunette snorts in disagreement but doesn't comment further and maybe it's because the one currently being offended was already on his feet, fists curled, ready to sock him in that smug face of his. Surprisingly, Marco leans over and just touches Jean's bicep, halting his advance all together. That was certainly out of character for Kirschtein, to be placated so quickly. It was as if the one touch diffused the rising anger, making the man stand there awkwardly, "It's okay, Jean, I'll teach you. Okay?"

          His jaw works furiously before snapping together and finally huffing through his nostrils. Glancing back, he catches Marco with that gentle smile in reassurance and he feels himself deflate entirely. Lucky for Jaeger, freckled-Jesus came to save the damn day, "Okay."

           Leaning back now, standing, Marco grins in approval, "Good, now we're all squared away. How about you get some skates, huh?"

           Skates, right, kicks in Jeans train of thought before he realizes that maybe he just signed his soul away. Why did he agree to this again? Oh right, because of those almond eyes that were too friendly to be true.  _What the hell are you going to do, Kirschtein, when the guy who’s trying to help you, finds out you can actually skate?_ He thinks vehemently, his brows knitting together in frustration. Armin elbows him in the ribs, which dislodges him and forces him to look up, “What?”

          “Jean, it looked like you were about to have an aneurysm, what’s up?”

           It was the first time he noticed that Eren had taken his leave and Marco was.. Where was he? Jean blinks in confusion and looks to Armin, who sees his unspoken question, “He went to get you skates.”   
          “Who told him my size?”  
          “ _I_  did. Jesus, Jean, where did you go in the span of one minute?” Armin looks at him incredulously now before his expression minutely changes to something akin to surprise, “I didn’t expect you to accept his offer though. How many times have any of us tried to get you on the ice and suddenly, bam, there you go.”

           The older male’s scowl only becomes increasingly deeper at this point as he thinks about it too. He couldn’t really blame them for being sore about it and it wasn’t for lack of trying on their part (because every and any time they’ve gone skating in the past, since freshman year, they tried getting him to do it); and, for the most part, recently, he’d been making an effort to get over the fear but he hasn’t had the balls for it. Nobody really knew about it though, even though Reiner would ask every once in a while and Armin’s had a try at figuring out his reasons, but to no avail—even Ymir took a shot at it once, during a Christmas party, and eventually sent in Christa (of whom no one could deny) and even  _that_ didn’t make him crack. So eventually, they stopped asking or questioning his motives and left it at that. They tease him about it now and again, which is natural with his friends, but they don’t cross the boundary.

           Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see Marco making his way over—walking in sneakers now—with Jeans skates in hand and his own in the other, dangling by his side. It was weird to see the other walking around and not gliding around on the ice; it made him look much more ordinary but not in the bad way.  _Tangible_ , that was it. Without the skates and that grace exuding so obviously off his person, Marco looked normal and retained that sweetness about him; it didn’t make Jean as nervous as he was initially.  _Good, good,_  he thinks,  _maybe I won’t look too much like an idiot this time around._ At least that’s what he hopes.

           Armin is making his way onto his feet, stuffing his cold hands in his jacket pockets, “You know what? I’m going to get some coffee or something with Mikasa, my fingers feel like they’re about to fall off, alright?”  
 _‘Son of a bitch,_ _he’s leaving me alone?!’_ is Jeans first thought before he twists in his seat to watch his friend go, much to his chagrin, “What?!”  
           “You’re a big boy, Jean,” Armin teases before he’s out of sight and out of earshot.

           Muttering a few colorful words under his breath, Jean turns when he hears rustling and someone gently bumps his shoulder gently with their own. His own cheeks flush briefly, but he blinks when Marco is holding out the skates.

 _Oh my god he’s closer than I thought, I can count his freckles from here._  

           “Here you go, Jean—Hey, where’d Armin--?”  
           "Coffee with Mikasa,” Jean waves off his concern and takes the skates with a sheepish thank you.

_15 freckles._

He’s quiet as he contemplates putting them on now or later and it seems Marco is just comfortable with just sitting beside him, “Hey, Marco..?”  
            His reaction was instant, his alert but charming, “Yes?”  
            Jean wonders if being an ass and chickening out on him is a remotely decent idea and when he sees that face, he realizes that its wrong; definitely wrong, “I uh.. Do you think…” his voice dies out, making the freckled male tilt his head, curious.

_27 freckles._

          “Do you think maybe.. we can maybe… wait until after everyone leaves.. or…”

           Blinking, leaning forward a fraction because Jean kept trailing off and his voice only growing fainter by the syllable, Marco finally understands what the man was trying to say and just smiles—flooring Jean entirely.

            _43 fucking freckles, holy shit, I’m not even halfway._

          “If you really want to, Jean, it’s okay with me. I just have some training when the public session closes but I can help you in between before my coach comes.”

          It’s almost like the chip on his shoulder just dislodged itself and he sighs in relief. Maybe it won’t be... so horrible, he tries to encourage himself while he glances back at his newly acquired friend. Marco seems like the understanding type and he hasn’t even bothered asking Jean about his hesitation to skate. Studying him _now_ —not as creepily as before, mind you— as they’re sitting together, Jean could _almost_ guess where Marco might’ve came from, or at least his heritage. Maybe he was Italian? Or even Belgium? Those freckles dusted all over his cheeks were just _so damn distracting…_ not to mention attractive. Marco’s forehead creases a tad, wondering what Jean is staring at.

           _58, son of a bitch, is that possible? I think I miscounted._

          Was there something on his face? Marco really hoped not, “Jean,” he almost whines, while rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm to try and get the thing off, “Is there something on my face?”  
         The mentioned male sits bolt right and shakes his head quickly, “No, no, sorry! No, it’s perfect it’s fine—“

          _Shit, shit, shit, what are you saying Kirschtein,_ he mentally slaps himself and busies himself with hunkering down and attempting to bury half of his face in his jacket out of embarrassment; very turtle-like. Marco just giggles—really giggles—because he thought it was endearing. During their time there, after the dark haired male finally convinced the other to come out from hiding, they were actually able to speak together on relatively normal terms, although Marco took to it naturally while Jean still struggled every now and again. Reiner had unfortunately come late, so he was only around for half an hour—introducing himself to Marco before heading out to hang out with the others before the rink closed publicly for the day.

            “I think he’s charming in his own way,” Marco happens to comment, while he watches with Jean from the sidelines how Reiner shows off to Christa by perching Annie, who surprisingly came in with Connie (apparently he went to pick her up from her house, since her car was in the shop and he owed her a favor), on his left shoulder without losing balance.  
            “Ymir will kick his ass though,” Jean scoffs, having recently returned from getting the two hot chocolate from the concession stand, grinning nonetheless, “But everyone likes Christa, so it can’t be helped.”  
            “Do you like her?” Marco finds himself asking, innocently enough as he let’s the cup warm his hands before he tries to take a sip—only to find it scalding hot, “Ow, ow, ow, ow--!” he’s forced to blow on it, but his tongue already burns.  
            “I told you it was hot..” mutters Jean before shrugging and answering nonchalant, because that’s just how he felt, “Not in _that_ way, even though I’m pretty sure half of us had a crush on her at some point. She’s really nice, but the need to live outweighs the want to challenge Ymir,” He snorts before breaking into a fit of laughter and it makes Marco laugh too.

            Soon enough, as the crowds start to thin out, their friends begin to take their leave as well, in groups. Jean wonders if he would end up asking Connie or Sasha to pick him up later, but it ends up that when the duo come over to ask about it, Marco offers to drop him off instead, “You really don’t have to do that--,” Jean starts before the freckled man dismisses him.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he grins before joking, “Just means you’re my prisoner longer.”

            Jean wasn’t quite sure whether to be ecstatic at this news or suspicious, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it as Sasha was already hugging both Marco and him goodbye, with Connie high-fiving them on the way out. The trio—Mikasa, Eren, and Armin—waved their goodbyes as well and followed Reiner and Annie out; Reiner taking her home since apparently she scared Connie out of his wits on the way over. Ymir ended up remembering that she had a dinner to go to and so Christa hopped a ride with Sasha and Connie.

            “Bring him home before midnight, Marco!” jeers Ymir as she waves her arm before taking off.  
            “I will!” the man calls back in response before she’s out of earshot.

            It goes quiet between them for a moment, as they stand together at the bottom of the bleachers, but it’s comfortable—the air still humming with the echo of their friends’ activity and energy. Something bumps against his shoulder again, so he turns to find Marco smiling (that damn wonderful smile) and nodding towards the rink, “Shall we?”

          

           “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”


	4. Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So sorry for not updating last week, but I'm making it up to you by having this chapter a little longer than usual!   
> As always, inspired by Kimiooon's work linked in the first chapter!   
> If you guys wish to help edit/read chapters before I post them (or after because really I'm sure they need more than a once-over), please feel free to email me! I don't bite!: jagara2543@hotmail.com
> 
> I want to thank you guys for taking the time out to read and it's just as much a pleasure to write it for you!

      Time passes and he’s not quite sure how long he’d been staring at the icy ground. All he knows is that Marco’s been waiting just as patient as ever, watching his face and reactions. Everyone had left and it was eerily, but comfortingly silent in the building; faded footsteps of workers in the background. Slowly, the realization of what he’s about to do begins to hit him piece by piece, from the god-awful, stark blue skates strapped around his feet to the chilled air that infiltrates his jacket no matter what he does to try to prevent it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabs for purchase and his hands find themselves at Marco’s steady shoulders.  
      

      “We don’t have to do this now, Jean, it’s okay,” comes the quiet voice in reassurance, sensing that something was wrong with this attempt on Jeans part, “You look awfully pale…”  
      “N-No, no, it’s okay,” even though his voice cracks, he doesn’t want to give up on trying for Marco’s sake, “I can do it.”  
     

      But he hasn’t been on the ice since his last year of middle school and he’s not sure he’s ready yet. His vision blurs around the edges from how long he’d been contemplating the ice and Marco finally decides to make a move—stepping onto the ice with his own black skates. It’s a gentle, subtle move to urge Jean a little closer and surprisingly he wobbles forward and now he’s right at the edge. Biting his lip, the sandy haired male becomes unsure once more. _Just don’t think about it, Jean, it’s just ice… You don’t have to think about her right now,_ he thinks to himself. Looking up, briefly, he catches sight of the pink bracelet that peeks out from under his jackets sleeve and sighs. _Okay,_ he decides, _okay._  
     

      Marco’s eyes widen slightly when Jean hauls one leg over from solid ground to the slippery surface, followed by the other.   
     

      The freckled man waits with bated breath before offering a smile, “Are you okay?” his voice is gentle and sweet, still letting Jean hold onto him by the shoulders with his vice grip.

 _No, not really,_ Jean thinks sourly as he begins to feel his knees tremble with a lost sense of balance—not remembering their past skill—but he decides not to be too snide with the new interest of his that has been too kind for their own good. Thinking back now, if anyone told him that skating was like riding a bicycle, how you never really forget, he would punch them in the face right now. Luckily enough for the both of them, Marco didn’t seem the type of person to rub something like that in his face. That still leaves the issue of him actually requiring movement in his legs for him to actually, you know, _skate._ But Marco seems to remedy the situation by making a sort of slow scissoring motion with his legs that starts to trail them in a direction. It’s painstakingly slow, maybe snail’s could beat them, but Jean doesn’t dare let go out of his own fear and hesitancy— Marco smiles all the same; that damn wonderful smile.

      “You’re doing great, Jean, really,” he says.  
      Jean snorts his derision, “You don’t have to be nice about it, Marco,” he mutters as he concentrates on mirroring the skater guiding him, slowly losing his grip on the others’ shoulders while he spoke, “I know I’m crappy at these things, you heard what Eren said.”  
      “Eren says a lot of things,” Marco chides as he feels Jeans hands slip from his shoulders, down his arms so they were just holding hands to keep the man steady. Jean wobbles for a second while they make a wide turn, before he slows and resumes their normal pace, “But I have a right not to believe him—you seem to know what you’re doing. It just looks like you’re scared, is all.”  
        
       Jeans gaze snaps up for a moment, staring at Marco; had he noticed and just not said anything? His freckles shape to the curve of his smile.  
        
      “You know how to skate, don’t you?”  
        
       A long suffered sigh escapes Jean before he decides that he wants to answer. Marco has been far too nice for him not to say anything about it, “A guess so,” he finally admits quietly.  
      The corners of Marco’s lips turn downward, “Why didn’t you say anything? You wouldn’t have to endure having Eren teasing you about it—.”  
      “They don’t know that I can,” Jean cuts him off and this makes the others frown deepen a fraction, concerned as to why he would do such a thing, “I met Eren, Mikasa and Armin when I transferred to their school in the middle of eighth grade and—Ah!”  
       
       In his distraction, Jean actually steps wrong, causing his leg to completely go out from under him with the loss of traction. Unfiltered surprise etched itself on his features as he fell and slipped halfway between Marco’s legs even as the other tried holding him up with his best efforts; at least he didn’t hit the ground _as_ hard as he could have if Marco hadn’t been there. Uttering apologies and how he probably looked like Bambi in that winter scene, ridiculous and like he had two left feet—to which Marco could only laugh at, causing his own balance to teeter while he tried to pull Jean up to his feet (but it’s really hard when you’re trying not to laugh as hard as you want to when someone is being embarrassingly cute and blushing all the while).  
       
      “Marco it’s not that funny!” Jean protests while his feet keep slipping out from under him like a new-born fawn.  
      “B-But the reference!” Marco’s really trying to not burst out into a fit of laughter, but it’s sapping his strength which makes them stumble around more than they really had to, “And you’re glowing!”  
        
_How embarrassing_ , Jean thinks—already self-conscious as it were—but suddenly finds himself laughing nervously until it roars to life when glimpsing the exact moment Marco’s strength gives out and they both topple over in a heap on the ice. That’s another moment that Jean realizes something about Marco—he’s a lot heavier than he looks. His lungs are crying from an insufficient amount of air as they both continue laughing in their mess of limbs on the cold surface.  
        
      “W-Wait, wait!” Marco untangles himself from Jean with an effort before finally rolling over and giving the other room to wheeze and breathe, “I-I’m sorry!” he’s still laughing, clutching his sides, and it has easily made itself one of Jeans favorite sounds. Jean tosses him a dry look and Marco’s eyes widen slightly, “What?”  
      “You’re heavy.”  
      “No, I’m not!” Marco scoffs playfully, shoving Jeans shoulder as he finally gets to his feet.  
      “Yeah, you are,” Jean comments matter-of-factly while he pushes himself up now, joining Marco in standing, “What are you? Solid brick?”  
      Now it’s Marco’s turn to turn an admirable shade of red, “N-no! I don’t work out that much, actually.”  
      Jean rolls his eyes as he begins moving around by himself, arms out to his sides awkwardly to keep his balance, “Yeah, sure, and I didn’t date Ymir for two years—,” This revelation makes Marco screech to a halt and look at Jean skeptically. Jean blinks back, with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets now, looking thoroughly offended, “What?”  
      “You, dated Ymir?”  
      “Yeah, so?”  
  
       What the hell? Was it that much of a surprise?  
  
      “What was that like?” His curiosity got the better of him, because frankly, Marco couldn’t imagine such a thing. Ymir was so…  
        
_Actually_ , now that he was able to put some thought into it—from the short time that he’s come to know her, it might make a little sense. She and Jean appeared to have the same crass personality and humor—though personally, Marco thought it suited Jean better in a way because Ymir was a tad too blunt and unforgiving at times. Jeans not sure how to answer that one.  
        
      “Well, it wasn’t bad, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the sandy haired male shrugs while they skate along side by side once again, moving along with their conversation. Jean finds that his legs remember their skill before and slowly, he gets used to the ice again—bringing up the motions from bleary, far off memory.  
      “I sense that there’s a ‘ _but_ ’ at the end of this,” Marco muses as he faces Jean now, skating backwards with smooth ease as they make their way around the other wide curve of the rink.  
      “ _But,_ ” Jean gives Marco that one, “We just argued a lot. Sure we got along, liked a lot of the same things, went dancing a lot but I guess people who are too alike can be destructive for each other…especially people like me. It’s like we’re always looking for something to pick at or fight about.”  
      
       By then, Jean was frowning but Marco looked enlightened, “Ah, so you didn't really balance each other out then?”  
      “Yes and no,” Jean tries to explain, because it was hard to describe, “But it ended up being we were better as friends than any sort of significant others. We have gotten to the point of going blow to blow before.”  
      “You didn't hit her, did you?” gasps Marco, shocked.  
      “Hell yeah I did!” Jean snorts, but he doesn't look happy about it, “Sometimes she started it, or I did—but usually she’s faster to react than I am. I mean, that’s what Armin said when I ended up telling him because he found me with a broken nose the next day.”  
       
      Marco winces at that.  
   
      “It’s not like she’s fragile or anything, Marco, she’s tough,” Jean grins a bit at the thought, thinking back to their times together while looking down as the ice passes underneath him, “…She’s a real good girl—hit’s like a heavy-weight boxer--but she's good. But shit, I wouldn't fight her again willingly.”  
      Marco actually finds it fit to giggle, “So are you saying you lost?”  
      “Fuck, I lost every time, I’m not afraid to say it. I’d like to see _you_ fight her and see what you end up saying after!” the other male admits, but he’s not as ashamed as Marco imagined he would have made out to be, “Except once, but that’s only because it ended up in some really angry make-up se--,”  
      “I’m not listening to what you two did!!” Marco’s hands scramble and go to cover his ears.  
       
      Now at this, Jeans brows flew up into his hairline—nearly. A wicked grin breaks out onto his face.  
  
      “What? I was just going to say sex!”  
      “Jean!”  
      “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by that!” Jean scoffs, still grinning while Marco hides his face behind his hands, “It’s just a word!”  
      “It’s like second-hand embarrassment okay!” Marco fails in defending himself, glaring half-heartedly at the other who’s still grinning like he won some major prize, “I don’t really talk about those things, it just seems—,”  
      “Perverted?” Jean waggles a brow, teasing.  
      “Stop that!”  
      “Oh, god Marco, don’t tell me you’re actually shy about--,”  
      “Jean, don’t say it--,”  
      “Sex!”  
        
      To his amusement, the more he said it, the darker Marco’s face grew and the more those numerous freckles stood out on his face. And then… the idea came. He wondered if it applied to all things dealing with the frickle-frack. Marco’s lips came together in a lovely, accusing ‘o’ shape before he was able to stop Jean from whatever he was about to say.  
  
      “PENIS!!”  
  
      “Jean!!” Marco actually squeaked, his expression scandalous while Jean beamed giddily with his new-found hobby: finding words that embarrass Marco.  
      
       The accused cackles madly and Marco speeds up in a horrible attempt to escape the teasing, “PENIS!!!” he shouts louder, throwing his arms up.  
      “Someone’s going to hear you, Jean!” Marco pleads, but Jean knows he’s trying not to laugh too, alongside his beet red cheeks, “You have no shame.”  
       
       Jean is just howling in laughter, hanging off of the wall to hold himself up as he did—Marco skating closer just to see if he was alright before his lips were brought into a pout, “Jean! You’re so mean.”  
      “I--,” he can’t even get the words out, “Oh god, I think I can’t--,” he wheezes in his mirth, “I can’t breathe, oh my—Marco!” he’s about to lose his hold when Marco finally gets a hold of himself and pulls him up straight; Jean bumping harmlessly against him from the force.  
     
      Jean is absolutely red in the face from the lack of oxygen while Marco’s is from the mans teasing. If it wasn’t that Jean was scared of hurting the skaters feelings any further, he would have continued, but finally he feels his own laughter dying down as he holds onto Marco for dear life; his strength eventually getting restored. Marco is smiling though, throughout his blushing, and from this angle Jean could finish counting those freckles from where he had left off earlier. _There has to be more than 80 on his face alone,_ he concludes with finality, unable to count further with those doe eyes watching him so earnestly.  
       
      “Who the hell are you?”  
  
      The voice catches both of them off guard (more Jean than anything) and Jean whirls around only to see a man with a very bored (or annoyed? He wasn’t quite sure) expression on his face.  
  
      Wait, why did he feel like he’d seen him before?  
  
      “Oh!” Marco pipes up happily, “Coach! I didn’t see you there.”  
      “Is that supposed to be a crack at a short joke?” the older male snorts, a scowl marring his features, but at the same time didn’t even change his expression.  
       For a second, the ice-skater looks horrified, “No, sir! Of course not.”  
  
      Jean could only wonder how his face even did that but if this was Marco’s coach, then… Marco skates over to the other wall where his coach was standing and the contrast between their heights was a little humorous. Jean could say he was easily a little above average height and Marco was what, an inch or two taller than him? So that made his coach that much smaller than the both of them (at least by four or five inches, respectively).  
  
      “You, horse-face, are you deaf? I’m talking to you.”  
      Now that his attention has been clearly made undivided, Jean looks over to the man, bristling, “What?”  
      “Levi, this is Jean--,”  
      “I don’t really care,” Levi waves his hand vaguely, “You need to practice your routine and he can’t be on the floor.”  
  
      _Rude.  
  
_       Marco is skating over to Jean while he heaves himself up onto the wall, not bothering to skate over to the exit door on the opposite side. Helping Jean swing his left leg over the wall, Marco yelps when the other just falls on the other side with a dull thud and an indignant huff, “Are you okay?”  
      His hair is standing in tufts as he brushes himself off, but Jean nods, “Yeah, I’m alright.” Because after a fall like that, you can’t exactly play it cool either, “I uh… how long is your practice?”  
      Marco rubs the back of his neck, unsure, “It depends on Levi, sometimes it’s an hour or two but--.”  
      “Oi! Let’s go, Marco! We have all night you know,” calls the ebony haired male, looking less and less interested in what either of them had to say at this point, “And I’m not getting any younger either.”  
  
      Jean grimaces while glancing in Marco’s direction, “I should probably go, it doesn’t look like he wants me around.”  
      Marco looks at Jean in worry and then frowns, “No, but I promised to take you home afterwards, maybe he won’t make it that long?”  
  
      Both of them knew it probably was going to take longer than either of them were willing to wait and Jean had to get home at a relatively decent time. Since Marco was an Olympic hopeful, his mom was persistent about practice and didn’t care what time he got home. Jean was sure his dad wouldn’t mind, but he didn’t want to risk the chance, especially since his dad was one of those worry-wart kind of parents. But Jean grins and bears the thought of a disappointed Marco, “It’s okay, I can call my dad to pick me up.”  
  
      And his heart sinks when Marco frowns; it seems he really wanted to drop Jean off at his home.  
  
      “How about a rain-check?” Jean smiles a bit, hoping to get another one of those smiles out of the freckled boy, “I promise that you get to take me home next time.”  
      The other brightens considerably at this aspect and tilts his head curiously, “And when will be the next time?”  
  
      There goes a coy smile.  
  
      Just when he thought that he was brimming with confidence, Marco just pokes a hole right through it and Jean blushes at a loss for his next words. _Son of a fucking biscuit, why are you so cute?_ Chewing his lip, Jean takes a moment to think before holding out his hand, “Gimme your phone.”  
      Marco blinks, “It’s in the locker room.”  
      Jean rolls his eyes while he shoves his hand into his jean pocket and yanks out his own, “Then give me your number.”  
  
      He’s practically demanding it and it only makes Marco bubble up with elation at the fact.  
  
      “Okay.”  
  
      Giving him his phone, Marco types it in and saves it under his name before Levi is calling him again, “Oi! Lovebirds! Quit the twiddling and scat, Horseface! We have a lot of work to do!”  
      “I’ll text you later then?” Jean almost whispers, excited that he even managed to get Marco’s number in the first place.  
  
      The freckled boy nods, grinning from ear to ear sheepishly but just as anxious, watching as Jean sits down on one of the benches to pull off his skates that were hurting his feet with the lack of use, “Yes, please.”  
  
      Grinning up at Marco, while he’s shucking on his vans, Jean nods in agreement before finally getting to his feet and waving over to the coach, who barely even paid mind or noticed that Jean was still there, “It was nice meeting you, Levi, I guess.”  
  
      It was surprising and not surprising at the same time that all he had gotten was a nod of acknowledgement from the older male, but Jean supposed he should be happy with what he got. Marco’s smiling at him and waving sheepishly like earlier when they first got each others attention, making Jeans heart flutter around a bit like a love-struck teen.  
  
      “Be safe going home, Jean.”  
      “See you soon, Marco,” he replies before stuffing his hands back into his pockets and lopping off towards the rinks double-doors for the exit.  
  
  
  
  
 _See you very soon._


	5. Nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I vanished for an indescribably long time.  
> I'm so sorry for an unannounced hiatus and lack of update on my own part.
> 
> /Life/ just kind of happened and I've finally come to bounce back into what I've loved. I hope this will make up for my inefficiency--at least until I get back into the swing of things and get back in touch with people once more. I'll also be adding a song to each chapter I find may fit any certain part.
> 
> I'm also up for song recs!
> 
> As always, this work was inspired by Kimiooon's artwork, linked in the first chapter!

* * *

  [If I Had a Boat - James Vincent McMorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmxLUocv-gU)

 

          Jean Kirschstein reminded himself that he couldn't just daydream while driving; it was almost as bad as texting. The light of the morning was barely peeking over the horizon, basking the sky in a warm graying glow, filtering in between the trees that he passed along the way. Only the quiet sounds of the engine and Connie's breathing in the passenger seat disturbed the silence and even then, could be counted as comforting white noise. It's been a while since he'd last seen Marco, having been stolen off by his grump of a coach for his practice that day, but luckily (thank every deity in heaven) they've kept in touch. Much of their texts have been simply conversational, a little more of getting to know each other, but remained mainly with small talk. Due to his obligations, it was actually pretty hard to meet up with freckled boy and make time off--but Jean didn't mind in the slightest, to be honest. Kirschtein was well aware of the rigid schedules and grueling practices that Olympic hopefuls were subjected to; understanding, even. Marco described his routine, only succeeding in making the other grimace in objection. His coach, Levi, was as tough as they came, Jean had come to find and realized as to why he was so familiar when they'd first met.

          Because it  _hasn't_ been the first time, in truth, but in actuality had been so long since he'd seen the older man that it was like being introduced all over again. The sense of déjà vu had bothered him so thoroughly, that Jean had to pinpoint exactly where he'd seen Levi before. The memory was sharp, but the people in it were relatively blurry at the time.

          Jean could remember that day. The lump in his throat that used to form, doesn't do so quite as often anymore, allowing him to breathe steadily.

           _All of his family had come to stay, from both his father and mothers sides, for the week as preparations were underway. He was young, but old enough to remember, standing there awkwardly while vaguely familiar people offered their condolences and patted his head or shoulder. His father must have been somewhere talking to the pastor before the funeral started, because he sat quietly in a chair to keep his distance from the gleaming casket just across the room. Jean knows the faces that weren't his family, much more intimately than his own blood. His mom made it clear to introduce him to everyone she knew and practiced with and gushed happily anytime they mentioned Jean in conversation. Ever since he was able to walk, she would take him everywhere she went--dad went along too, but more than naught, it was Jean who was there on the sidelines swinging his legs on those cold benches, cheering for his mom. Fingers brush through Jeans mussed hair and he sniffles faintly while looking up to see who it was this time._

_"...Are you going to tell me she's in a better place too?" Jean mutters grumpily, but he's run out of tears already.  
           "No," says the man, with raven hair and pale eyes, and that's all he says._

_This confuses the young boy, but he bites his lip and something about Levi understanding that words wouldn't help, makes his eyes water. Lips trembling, Jean buries his face into the mans side, making the hand that was in his hair, drop to the boys shoulder. They stay there for a while, in silence, as the wake continues. Mom already spoke so highly about Levi, having been his partner in quite a few competitions in their time. When he moved to Germany for a while, they lost touch, until he had somehow caught word that mom was sick--Jean was surprised when he opened their door and found the strange man in the doorway. He had gotten here in two days flat, dropping everything he'd been doing back in Europe to come. Jean never thought he'd be comforted by the stranger, who had been moms best friend--but it appeared as if he understood a lot better than he let on._

_"I miss my mom.." the boys voice is muffled in the material of Levi's jacket.  
           It's quiet for a moment longer, before the hand on his shoulder grips him lightly, "So do I, kid."_

         The radio is still playing music, slowly pulling Jean out of his reverie as he pulls the truck to a red light. Glancing out of the window, he finds that the sun is wavering just at the horizon line now, giving the sky a rosier hue. Connie was still snoring like the fuckin' chainsaw that he was, which prompts Jean to reach over and pinch his nose shut--the reaction was immediate, as Connie suddenly snorts from the lack of air and sputters before flailing and sitting up, wide awake, "What the fuck!? Jean!"

          "You've been snoring the whole fuckin' car ride, Connie! It's annoying as shit," is his response, before the light turns green and he continues with the drive, "You better be buying me pizza for this. I didn't  _have_ to pick you up just so we could help Armin move."  
           "Well yeah, but he asked the both of us and he's gonna need all the help moving into that monster of a house his grandparents left him," Connie argues, unzipping his jacket he'd been using as a sleeping bag for the ride, "It's not my fault it's outside of the city."  
           "Yeah, whatever," Jean resists the urge to roll his eyes as he turns into the neighborhood that Armin had dictated to him over the phone.

           Jean doesn't believe in GPS, not unless his life depended on it. His dad always taught him how to get  _any_ and  _every_ where, even if he was lost; he could always center himself if he drove long enough, and it added to his repertoire anyway, of places he knew. By the time Armin had finished describing the place, Jean knew more or less where the area was. Connie on the other hand, couldn't decipher a map for his life, hence why Jean was driving and not the other way around.

          "Hey man."  
          "What?"  
          "Have you talked to that Marco kid?" Jean didn't miss the suspicious waggle of his friends brow, "Have you made a move yet?"  
           This time, Jean didn't resist the urge to let his eyes nearly roll out of his head, "You _and_ Sasha need to drop this shit--you're worse than Thing 1 and Thing 2."  
           "But you're avoiding the question! Are you planning on asking him out or something? I've never seen you text any of us that much," the other snorts, jealous of the attention this new person was getting.

          At that moment, Jean hears his phone buzz in the cup holder, making Connie snatch it before he had a change to even make a grab for it, "Connie!"  
          "It's Marco! Are you guys sexting already? That's nasty--"  
          "Yes, Connie, that's exactly what we're fuckin' doing--," Jean hit new levels of sarcasm as he tries to take the phone while keeping his eyes on the road, "Sexting non-stop, are you happy now?!"  
          "That's just nasty, man. I don't need to know what you guys do behind closed doors," he's already nosing through Jeans phone for the recent texts before reading aloud the one that had been just received, "He's asking what you're doing tonight--bummer, I thought I was gonna catch one of you sending nudes."  
          "And you say I'm gross? Give it--!" Jean lunges and makes a successful grab for his phone, just as Connie finishes sending a reply in Jeans stead, "What the hell did you do??"  
          "Nothin' that you wouldn't have done," Springer shrugs his shoulders, even when Jean growls, unable to read until he parked, "What, don't you  _trust_ me?"

            _About as far as I could throw you_ , is Jeans first thought, as his shoulders hunch in irritation--Armin's grandparents house is beginning to come into view, just down the road. As irritating as he might be, Connie was right, the house Armin inherited was immense. The closer they got, parking in the driveway, the bigger it just appeared to be. Jean balked at the idea of carrying boxes up to what he saw was a second floor. Speaking of boxes, the two spy a ridiculous amount of them sitting strewn across the lawn, waiting to be brought in, "Who in gods-name has so much crap?!"

          "Oh! Guys!" a blond head pops up from behind the railing on the second floor balcony, "You're here! I'll be down in a second--would you mind bringing in a box or two?"

          Between them, the boys shrug and silently agree to do so, as they wandered to see which box would possibly weigh the lightest (but not seem like they were skimping out on work). In the end, Jean decides on two medium boxes, stacked on each other, while Connie grabs what possibly could be the smallest out of them all (cheater). Peering just over the top box, perched precariously on the other, Jean begins to head in while trying to hold the sagging weight of the bottom box. It almost feels like the bottom of the box is going to give out, when two other hands come out from the opposite side and distribute the weight, "Don't worry, I got it!"

          "Nah man, don't worry--I was almost--," Jean responds mindlessly, not thinking until his brain skitters around the familiarity of the disembodied voice, "Wha--?"

          No sooner after that, he attempts to peer around the box, but the other person looks on the opposite side; it's an awkward game that takes two tries of getting the same side until finally he spies those bemused almond eyes staring back at him and they sigh, "Jean!" Whether in surprise or relief, he wasn't quite sure.

          "M-Marco?" Jean grunts, as both their hands try to shuffle for a better holding on the box, "What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be training this week?"  
          "Didn't you get my text?" Marco's unseen smile, hidden by the stack of boxes, easily reached his eyes, making Jeans heart flutter briefly, "Levi let me have the three days to help Armin; said he had some things to take care of anyway, so he let me off the hook."  
          "Well, Connie decided to be my secretary for the drive over--I didn't get any more messages, as far as I know, aside from what I was doing tonight--" Jean grunts slightly as they maneuver the box into the living room.  
          "Huh, actually, now _that_  makes better sense," Marco comments lightly, as he pulls out his phone and shows Jean their conversation, "I was wondering why it didn't sound like you." 

          Furrowing his brows, Jean looks at a sheepish Marco in confusion before glancing down at the screen, only to find it filled with kissy emoji's, hearts, and a response that garnered a groan of embarrassment from the male in question. Dumbass Connie decided to be slick and write,  _'I'd love to do you later, hotshot.'_ without any prompting on Jeans part.  _Sweet fucking Jesus on a beignet,_ Jean is considering kicking his ass later--but Marco chuckles, catching his attention, "I figured you weren't such a smooth talker."

          At this, Jeans cheeks grow scarlet and mouth falls open, attempting to rectify such a  _wrong_ assumption, because Jean Kirschtein was the smoothest motherfucker in their group... but nothing coherent comes forth, "I--You--..What?! O-Of course I am! W-What makes you think-.. That I wouldn't?!"  
          God, how he hated just how amused Marco looked at his floundering, "So you're saying you  _do_ want to do me later?"  
          When the ever-loving-fuck did Marco get so bold? "Y-Yes!" Jean blurts, only to scramble around his words, "No! I mean--Jesus Marco, what the hell? Connie sent that shit, I never use fucking emojis and shit to talk to you--but no, like, we're just talking Marco I wouldn't just tell you that out of the blue--!"

          Gentle laughter cuts him off, trembling the boxes they'd been leaning on, and Jeans words die off in his mouth, simply awestruck at how  _handsome_ Marco looks when he's sincerely laughing--like  _damn_ if that doesn't make Jean weak-kneed. Not that he'd openly admit that, mind you, but really just  _damn,_ look at Marco go, "I knew it wasn't you, Jean--you don't use smileys, ever!" Something twangs the nostalgic string in his heart, realizing that the freckled man has just as infectious a laugh as his own mother. Jeans embarrassment wanes as he smiles at a faded memory, and faintly, he wonders why all these little things are coming up now, when he's tried so long not to think too deeply about her. Tuning out the world for a moment, it seems that Marco realized Jeans mind wandered off and he instead (not wanting to pop his bubble just yet), talks to Armin who finally approached them about what to do with the rest of the boxes and where to put them. 

          "...Earth to Jean!"

          A few slow blinks later, straightening as he did so, a croak escapes, "Eh?"

          "C'mon, we have a few more boxes to bring in--at least until tomorrow; we can arrange everything else later," Armins voice breaks through the fog, making Jean look around and realize that they've been simply moving things around him while he was lost in the clouds.  
          "Why didn't you guys tell me anything?" Jean lets his indignancy show while following Marco and Connie out in their last rounds before cleaning the lawn of any debris that might've fallen from the boxes and furniture. Connie complains somewhere ahead about him being lazy, while Marco offers an apologetic shrug, "You seemed out of it, Jean--it's okay."  
          "Have you been feeling alright?" Armin finally asks, putting a careful hand on his arm, concerned, "It's not like you to space out _that_ often."  
          "Are you sure it's not because he's ogling at Marco?" Connie calls out, earning the bird from Jeans not so subtle finger.

          Honestly, Jean has no fucking idea why everyone happens to be so close to Marco somehow--like he was the last one to the party. The thought stays nagging at the corner of his thoughts the whole time, watching curiously as Connie and Armin talk to Marco as abso-fucking-lutely effortless as walking in the park. He's tempted to ask, but figuring as the last year or so he was a little ways away from their group and not intricately woven into their lives, the ice-skater could've easily slipped between the cracks, "Do you guys wanna sleep over?" Armin is heard asking, just as they finally bring in those last few boxes that could be opened another day, "If you're not doing anything, of course. The house is just so big, I'm not used to staying here on my own yet."

          "I'd have to go pick up some things from home, but yeah-that sounds like a good idea," Jean finally voices, coming back to Earth and his response making Connie too excited for his own good.  
          "Great! Me too! We should get everyone!"  
          "It's not your fuckin' house, Connie--don't self invite," growls Jean, Marco chirping a much more polite agreement behind him before Armin laughs to keep the peace.  
          "Don't get your boxers in a bunch, Jean, it's okay--I was going to ask the group anyway--we'll just see who comes, okay? No big deal, the house is definitely big enough. I'll go get groceries and stuff so that there's food in the fridge; we don't need to starve."  
           Jean pauses a moment to think, "So we'll split up into teams then and meet back here?"  
           Marco nods, "Looks like it."  
          Connie is jumping up and down already, "I'm gonna go with Armin and get the food--"  
          "You don't have clothes here, Con, what are you gonna wear? You need to go home," Jean gives him a 'are you stupid' kind of stare.

          Springer waves off Kirschstein's concern, "You have a spare key, just go and pack me two pairs of whatever and bring it."  
          "I'm not your damn mom, Connie! Just come with me and pack your own shit--"

          Blessed be Marco and whoever he ever defends, because Marco smiles and all the fight was snuffed out of Jean, "Don't worry Jean, I'll just go with you and we can get yours, Connies and my own--if that's alright?"  
          "I uh.. Yeah, sure Marco. Of course it's alright," Jean isn't sure what to make of himself now but he's pretty sure a printed photograph of a donkey could be taped to his forehead right about now, "Fine--Con, go with Armin and I'll be the laundry service."  
          "I knew you had it in ya, jean!" Connie is already waving as he walks off with Armin to the car parked in the garage.

          There's times where he wonders how he remained friends with Connie, Sasha or the others--but it's mostly Connie and Sasha that bring up this existential type crisis. Jean rolls his eyes, each time, and moves on with life while he heads over to the truck with Marco in tow, "Nice ride."  
          "Mine's in the shop actually--I'm using my dads," Jean answers over his shoulder as he reaches for the door, only for Marco to beat him to it--opening it for him, "Marco," he tries to chuckle, "What do you think you're doing?"  
          "Nothin'," Marco grins, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Can't a guy have some manners?"  
          "You make me feel like a troll, prince charming," Jean gets in, regardless of the heat rising in his cheeks, letting Marco do what he wants--until his eyes widen as Maro fucking  _reaches over to seatbelt him in too_ , "MARCO, Jesus I'm not a princess."  
           "You're not a girl, Jean," Marco looks innocently puzzled, as he finishes and straightens up, "You'd be a prince."

           Honestly? Jean didn't even have anything to counter that because why was this guy so  _dumb_ and  _cute_? Jean just lets his head hit the headrest in defeat while Marco hums happily, walking around the car to get to the passenger side. How...  _How_ was Jean going to survive the car ride? "Ready to go?" Marco bursts the hazy bubble of his thoughts. Raising a brow at Jean, Marco waits before Jean finally nods, quickly, and gathers himself. 

           "Ready as I'll ever be."


End file.
